Green Enemy
by cassieerin
Summary: It was a lesson I learned at my father's knee: Know thy enemy. I was simply brushing up on my... techniques.


This is it?

Seriously?

_This _is what the entire Wizarding World – no, the entire _known _world is resting its fate on?

This has to be a joke, right? I mean, I know he's been the bane of my existence for the past six years but to look at him now…

It's a joke.

I'm certain.

Because, you see, I've met his opposition. I've _seen _the Dark Lord and Potter…

Like I said. It's a joke.

And the fucker has made me redundant.

But _look _at him!

Walking next to Weasley does him no good. That ginger haired oaf has to be over six feet tall by now and Potter… well really it's laughable. I don't suppose he's had his growth spurt yet. He's five foot five inches at the most - and that's being nice.

His table manners are appalling. Right now he's sitting there, stuffing his gourd with spoonful after spoonful of mashed potatoes while holding on a conversation, waving his utensil about, and decorating his chin with bits of white fluff.

Indeed.

I'm definitely assured that we're not all descending into hell now.

Really. My chest is all warm and fuzzy, like I've swallowed the world's largest teddy bear and it's just now squeezing my innards with comfort.

I jest.

And now I continue to watch.

And he continues to disappoint me, which is truly saying something since I hold no high standards for the likes of his half blood arse. Stupid muggle lover.

I mean, really, what worth are they?

Yet there Potter sits, all hidden indignation and fuel and fire, ready at the drop of a hat (or snide comment) to defend them.

Really.

And rumor has it that the filthy muggles he was raised by treated him like a house elf. _Still_ he defends them. The question remains as to why.

He's scrawny, too.

Not that I've _seen_ him, seen him… but honestly. You just cannot be that… short… and swim in your clothing daily and then be built up.

Gryffindor has Quidditch practice a few times a week, so I'm sure his abdominal muscles have to be at least a little defined - sitting on a broom takes more than just a bit of balance. Especially with the way he flies…

And there goes the treacle.

The house elves should be ordered to refrain from serving it, what with the way he inhales it. It's nearly un-human.

Un-human.

Huh. That's a consideration I've never given thought to before.

It would explain why so many people believe he can 'deliver us from evil'… as if we need to be delivered. We're no longer babies.

But I'm afraid some have yet to discover that…

Ugh. What's worse than babies? Overgrown, smelly, disgusting brutes that disguise themselves as boys and then shadow my every step. And elbow me during their greed induced attempts to stuff themselves full of every scrap of food within reach.

If that isn't vile enough, they then have the audacity to accuse me of staring at Potter.

They're easily dismissed – for now.

Potter seems… different this year. He's off.

Know thy enemy.

The simple statement is a part of the intricate education I received from the time I was old enough to comprehend full sentences. And I do. I've known Potter, as I said, for six years.

This year something is off. So, to know my enemy, it's my place to find out what. Out of the Great Hall it is then…

Ah, it's so amazing how Gryffindors never fail to take the bait.

A few snarled words and Weasley turns red.

An uttered phrase and steam is nearly rolling from Granger's ears as she fights to maintain herself.

A whispered cut and Potter moves with a stealth that belies his physical characterization and suddenly all I can see, hear, and feel is green, blazing anger followed by a wave of power that pins me all the more efficiently against the wall.

For the first time ever, I'm not worried about being without my goons to prevent such a physical confrontation. This is what I need to see – this is what I need to know.

And as Potter slowly picks up the invisible pieces of his self-restraint and control, as he backs away, eyes still flashing lightening bolts of warning and the hint of something else… I'm a step closer to knowing my enemy.

And as Potter glances back over his shoulder, being led away by the Weasel and the Mudblood, his face reads disgust and anger but that's easy to ignore. The face can be taught to lie. Eyes however…

Green took me a step closer to knowing my enemy, but it also took me a step closer to considering…

Do I really _want _to be the enemy any more?


End file.
